Don't Judge on What You See
by sillysillypanda
Summary: Just a series of one shots about the Sortings we didn't get to see.
1. Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy

**Disclaimer: HP is not mine.**

He is ash-blonde hair and eyes as gray as dusk. I recognized this boy, even before the Deputy Headmaster called out his name for the hall to hear. Even before the hall hushed, sideways glances and not-exactly-friendly murmuring directed towards this slim, slight boy. He is, after all, the image of his father. He stares straight ahead, at me, ignoring the stares and the mutters, and his gait is even and steady. He is strong, the strength that comes with practice. He is used to this treatment, and it doesn't faze him anymore.

But when he lifts me and places me on his head, his hands are trembling.

The first thing I hear is a desperate mantra, "Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin."

For a moment, I am taken aback at how much he reminds me of another boy, decades ago now, a boy with hair like coal and eyes like grass.

"Why not Slytherin?" I ask, searching the boy's mind. I am taken aback by his loyalty- not a typical Malfoy trait- his willingness to fight and die and stand firm to uphold his family. His loyalty to his family, despite all the prejudice and hatred they face, is commendable. And he is every bit as loyal towards his friends, not that he's had much in the way of friendship in his eleven years. But if he were to make friends here at Hogwarts, he would cherish them more than his own life, perhaps because he hasn't made many friendships in his eleven years of existence.

This is a boy who knows what it's like to be on the outside looking in. His resemblance to the other Boy is growing by the second.

There is intelligence in this brain, and kindness, and a degree of bravery and strength usually uncalled for in one so young. He could be great in any of the houses.

And yet...

"Not Slytherin," he is adamant, "Put me anywhere but Slytherin. I'm not ambitious at all. Not Slytherin."

The desperation in his mind is my hint.

There is an undeniable hunger in his heart, to prove to the world that he is more than his family name. A deep, raging ambition, no matter how he denies it, to rise in this world, above the tainted name of a fallen family of a fallen house. Or better yet, to erase the stain and the burden that haunts his father's footsteps. To lift his family up with his own rise to greatness.

His driving force is ambition. He is a Slytherin, through and through.

He just doesn't know it yet.

"You could be great there, you know," I wheedle, "There's a great thirst in you, to prove yourself, to prove that your more than your family tree. Slytherin would help you prove yourself. Why, your father and-"

And that's where he snaps, just like I knew he would. There is defiance and temper in him too.

"I'M NOT MY FATHER," he screams at me, in his mind.

"Are you more than that?" I murmur, and he falls still, for a moment, as he realizes what I am telling him.

"Exactly," I whisper, into the silence. He is more than his surname, and all he wants is the chance to prove it.

This sorting has gone on for much too long.

"Do you understand, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy?" I am gentle, in a way I rarely am with students. But rarely has a student known the prejudice and difficulty that this boy has, will, face. And I am about to sort him so as to seemingly confirm everyone's worst fears of him, double the suspicion placed on his slim shoulders. But he is a Slytherin to the bone, and adversity only heightens ambition. The difficulty he will face as a Slytherin will only make him stronger. Make him more. Make him great.

"I do," he is serious, and I bellow out his future, and he walks across the whisper-hush hall to his seat. There are stares, and this time, he stares coolly back, his gray-silk eyes confident without being too, too arrogant.

No one can hold his gaze.

He will be great in Slytherin. He will prove that he is the son of Draco, and yet is so much more than the spawn of an ex-Death Eater. He will prove that the house of Malfoy is not rotten to the core, and that the house of Slytherin is the equal of any of the other houses.

He will prove himself. And that is all he ever wanted.

**A/N next is Al's sorting! Reviews are much appreciated :)**


	2. Albus Severus Potter

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is still not mine.**

I expect to bellow out "Gryffindor" the instant my brim touches his charcoal hair. He is a Potter, and a Weasley, after all.

But he is deeper than his brother (whose thoughts two years ago –_ I want to be in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave of heart. Like my dad_- reminded me so much of another James, decades and decades ago now) and I find that I have to search to Sort him.

He is the type who's favorite thing to do is to curl up in the shadows and watch the world spin by. The perpetual audience who prefers people-watching to slaying dragons and rescuing fair damsels on stage. He is a think-er, a see-er, a wish-maker. Not a do-er. Not a Gryffindor.

But he does not value knowledge, not the way Rowena would. Cannot immerse himself in books and facts. He prefers people over print, motives over memorization.

"Keen mind, here, and a kind soul," I murmur, half to myself, though I know he is clinging to every word I say, "Perhaps just a hint of bravery within you, though..."

I stop short, sensing the tsunami of disappointment coursing through him. He knew from the start that he would not be a Gryffindor. He is used to following footsteps -being the younger brother of James "Trouble" Potter, and the son of the Chosen One and the greatest Chaser the Hollyheads have ever seen- rather than blazing his own trail, and he sees no need to confront danger or seek adventure. Bravery and daring are not in his nature: he is too quiet, too introverted, too easily bruised and beaten to survive in Gryffindor, where dwell the rough and rowdy.

He is bright enough to realize this, but he is afraid of disappointing his family.

And he so hates being compared to them.

"Please," he thinks as hard as he can manage, "Put me in Gryffindor. I swear, if you do, I'll-"

The fact that he is begging and bargaining for something he doesn't really want proves that he never be the kind to draw Godric's sword. He's a wheedler, a negotiator, not a fighter. Putting Albus Severus Potter in Gryffindor would be as big a mistake as putting Severus Snape there- both were undeniably brave, but they would- will- buckle under the pressure. Al is not daring, and people will expect him to be, and he is not chivalrous (how can he be, growing up with Ginny-the-independent-woman-thank-you-very-much for a mother?), and people will expect him to be.

In Gryffindor, he will never be able to escape the legacy of his father. He will always be compared to the Great Harry Potter, the quintessential Gryffindor, and he will always be found lacking.

He needs a place where he can grow, without his father's shadow looming over him. Needs a place where he can sit in the shadows and shape the world from there, where he can prove to himself that his opinion is the one that should matter most to him. Needs a place where he will be judged by his own ability to rise to the top, not on any other factor. Where his desire and desperation and ambition will take him farther than his father's face and name.

"Slytherin," I tell the boy, and he is shocked. He never expected this.

"I thought you took our preferences into account," he accuses, and I know that it must have been his father that told him that.

"I have. You made the choice ages ago, though you never realized it, when you wheedled as only a Slytherin can. It's not that you aren't brave, or smart, or loyal. You need a place that will help you be great, and be seen as such on your own merits, your own ambition and work. Slytherin can make you great, you know, if only you will let it."

He is quiet for a long, long time.

I do not rush him.

"Slytherin," he thinks finally, "James will never let me live it down."

"Is it James who matters most, or is it you?" I challenge him.

I feel him grin beneath my brim.

"Since I'm a Slytherin, I'll think like one and say me, of course," he smirks.

Perhaps I misjudged him. There is a cheeky side, an arrogant backbone, to the Potter brat.

Perfect.

"Slytherin," I bellow, and everyone gasps, and James swoons for real, as Al fairly skips over to the far table.

I see him shaking hands with the Malfoy boy, and if hats could smile, I would have been grinning something awful.

They will be great, those two. I feel it in my stitches.

**A/N Yeah, I think it would be great if Harry's son was in Slytherin. Because they're the house that's going to be the underdogs from now on. And because it makes sense for the son of Harry to feel the need to prove himself. But that's just my opinion. :)**

**Next is Rose, I suppose. **


	3. Rose Weasley

"You are as bright as your mother was," are the first words I utter in her mind, half-against my will.

"No, I'm not," she disagrees immediately, and I am expecting this little girl to demur sweetly, "I'm much smarter than my mum."

She is the first person to leave me speechless since the Lovegood girl.

She takes advantage of my silence to keep chattering away, very loud and very fast. Perhaps that is just a sign of nervousness, but I don't think so. It is all I can do to keep up.

"I've been thinking, see, and I've come to the conclusion that you'll most likely want to sort me either into Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. Heaven knows I'm not nice enough to be a Hufflepuff, just ask Hugo. Anyway, Ravenclaw would technically be okay with me, only I have a theory that people there are terribly stuffy, all books and no brains, if that makes sense. I suspect that they consume, digest, and regurgitate knowledge, but they don't really think about it. Unless they're like Auntie Luna, but there is no one in this world who is like Auntie Luna. And while fact-garnering doesn't sound too, too bad, it won't work for what I want to do. I'm a bit more... creative than that. Uncle George will attest to that, I've helped him come up with so many pranks it's not even funny.

"And so. Gryffindor. Just objectively, right, I know I'm daring. I know I'm brave. I know I've pulled Al into and out of so much trouble it's a wonder he still talks to me, and that the Burrow is still standing, and that between the three of us, James, Fred, and I haven't given Grandma Molly a heart attack yet. But I was talking to Mum, and she said that you sorted her into Gryffindor on the strength of her heart, on the fact that she values bravery and friendship and justice over books and learning.

"I'm smarter than my mum, but whatever heart I have, it comes from her. I know that.

"So please, don't sort me in Gryffindor."

I don't follow her logic. Lucky for me, the stream of thought continues, fast as, well, as thought, and I cling on for dear life.

"You compared me to my mother. I'm nothing like my mother, except for my heart. I don't care about being pointlessly clever or about what other people think of me. I care about batty causes. I've grown up with SPEW, but I think the injustice I need to chase isn't with house elves.

"It's with people. There's this ridiculous stigma attached to Slytherins, and the descendents of Death Eaters, and it's probably totally unfounded. Isn't it? I mean, Al is nothing like Uncle Harry, and I know I don't take after Dad much, and Hugo is nothing like Mum. Our parents don't determine who we are, do they? This is my SPEW, only I hope to heaven that I can find a better acronym for it. Mum never understood things like aesthetics, or marketing.

"I can't be in Gryffindor, not if it will only enforce this pointless stereotyping. I'm going to prove that I am more than my mother's brains, and that Al is more than his father's face, and that every darn person here in Hogwarts is more than our family name, and that history is over, so we should stop judging based on that. I'm going to fix this, and I will have all of Slytherin fixing it with me.

"That's Mum's heart speaking. You should have commented that I had my mother's heart, not her brains. Then again, you can only see into our brains, can't you? Not hearts too?

"Anyways, put me in Slytherin. I need to make a point."

She is the first person, ever, to tell me what to do. Ever. Requests and commands are two very different things.

I would be insulted, if I could find the words to say.

"You've really thought about this," I manage to utter, weakly.

"Obviously."

Her ambition is every bit as strong, if more focused, than her cousin's.

She is selfless though, and I don't know how that will work in Slytherin. She is right about batty causes and fighting for justice for others, not herself. But I know that this little ginger girl isn't the kind to let herself be stepped on. She will rise on the strength of her will, and on the foundation of her vision.

She has a heart. And it's high time that Hogwarts realized that "caring" and "Slytherin" aren't necessarily antonyms.

If hats could smile, I would be smiling.

"Slytherin," I bellow, and I feel her grin beneath my brim. She is glowing.

"Thank you," she mutters, before joining her table.

Slytherin won't make her great; she would be great no matter where I sort her.

But she had chosen to help make Slytherin great.


	4. Peter Pettigrew

**Disclaimer: HP isn't mine.**

"I don't belong anywhere."

No self-pity, just matter-of-fact in his thoughts. I remain silent, listening to their flow, searching for the truth behind and between them.

"I know I'm not smart or witty. I'm not cunning or sly. I don't have anything to be loyal to. And I'm so, so, terribly afraid."

He is. He's trembling like a leaf beneath me, so much so that I almost tilt off his head and tumble to the floor. That would have been humiliating.

He's right, though About all of it. He would be a rubbish Ravenclaw, a sub-par Slytherin, and an absolutely hopeless Hufflepuff. He's a conundrum, to be sure, but this boy is not without redeeming qualities.

He's honest. And perceptive. He sees his situation and, more importantly, himself clearly, which is more than most witches and wizards can say. It's not wisdom that gives this mousy boy clear eyes. It's something fiercer and franker.

I decide to be honest with him in turn, "You are afraid. That's undeniable. But if there's nothing to be afraid of, there is nothing to be brave for. Remember this: it takes a great deal of courage to defy your enemies. It takes even more courage to stand up to your friends. But, Peter Pettigrew, it takes the most courage of all to be honest with yourself about your shortcomings, and to allow yourself grow from them. You have do courage, courage enough to overcome anything. If you let it, Gryffindor can make you great."

He is flabbergasted. Something like pride begins to trickle up through him, and I call out his fate for the entire hall to hear.

But I'm still thinking about that mousy little boy as the Sorting ends, and McGonagall (She was a tricky decision, Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. But I was content with her choice – she has a lion's heart, through and through) carries me back to my bunk in Dumbledore's (another Gryffindor. Brave enough to stand up to enemies, friends, and his own self, he is) office. I am rarely this worried about a Sorting. The last time, I think, was sometime in the fifteenth century.

I mull over my thoughts. I know for sure that the Pettigrew boy is the bravest out of all the Gryffindors I sorted today. Honesty with oneself is the highest form of courage. But the strongest personality is not his; Black, or Potter, or perhaps Evans possesses that. I wonder if Peter will be able to tap into his store of courage, or if he will allow his seed of bravery to shrivel and die and choose the easy road of blindly following others.

But it's not for hats to see the future, only souls. I do not see choices, only potential.

And so, for an entire year of solitude, I worry, as only an enchanted hat charged with determining futures can worry.

**A/N Peter is a pain in the rear to write for. This is me, trying to piece together how on earth he ended up in Gryffindor. Let me know how I did!**


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